


Mental Training

by verymerrysioux



Series: Postman!Warriors [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Postman!Warriors, mailman!Link, postman!Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymerrysioux/pseuds/verymerrysioux
Summary: Being a postman is demanding work, and he can't skimp on his training just because of a slight delay. Another Link understands that dedication.Based on the Linked Universe AU.
Relationships: Time & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Series: Postman!Warriors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807576
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	Mental Training

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EstaJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Down to the Letter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24715000) by [EstaJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay). 



> [This fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24715000/chapters/59737729) inspired me so much I'm amazed by it. I recommend reading that first since I mention some scenes from it.
> 
> No beta, I die like the soldiers in Hyrule Warriors.

Every person runs at their own pace. Their own steps. Not everyone is the same, no exact height or weight, no exact diet or exercise, no exact route or destination. The time it takes to complete a step is different for each person.

A hundred steps per minute is the average rate, a hundred and forty if you're brisk enough, and a hundred and eighty is the minimum goal for a sprint beyond that. 

He aims for a rate beyond a hundred and eighty. Three steps in a second, building up for more. To be fast meant to be early, to be early meant to reach his goal on time, and to be early meant he was ahead of schedule.

But self-awareness is just as important as ambition, and to know how long it currently takes him to run from one destination to another is critical in his line of work.

Inhale. Five, six, seven-

"What're you doing?" A voice pipes up, small and bright. So close that he can feel the breath tickling his ear.

He's really glad he'd been mentally counting because he can focus on the eight, nine, ten he'd been trying to finish instead of punching the sneaky brat out of battle reflex.

"What have I told you about doing that, you little shit?" He says, glaring at the boy standing next to him. Hands behind his back and big blue eyes wide with curiosity, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, he was an adorable picture of innocence. 

And by innocence, he meant the brat looking small and harmless right after kicking someone's shins (if he does nothing to stop it, despite the fact that he's one of the few people the kid listens to—well, adults should know better than to mock people who are just doing their duty to the public).

"Doing what?" The kid asks, deceptively clueless. Scooting over to his side and sitting down, using his legs as a rest. He removed his boots before walking on their makeshift bed, at least (with the number of turncoats that popped up left and right, he'd be damned to let a kid sleep alone in a military camp). "M'just here to tell you dinner's ready, what did you think I was doing?"

"Being the little shit that you are," is his immediate reply, reaching for his cap and scarf. He misses his old uniform. But the outfit General Impa gave has layers upon layers of magic protection on it, and without that, it's likely he'd be running around with ribbons of cloth hanging off him by prayers only.

"So what were you doing?" The kid asks again, tilting his head. "Your eyes were closed and you were swinging your arms like you were jogging."

He huffs. "I was training."

The kid blinks. "Training?"

"Mental training," he elaborates. "I imagine myself running on the field for-"

"Exactly ten seconds?" The kid guesses, leaning on his leg.

He pauses at the kid's excited tone. One of the skills he had was his inhuman accuracy to measure time. He bet the kid could put the newest clocks into shame with how he can state the current hour, minute, second, and millisecond without missing a beat.

How they found out about that quirk was particularly amusing. 

It had been in another battle, this time in Death Mountain. It was hot, even with the flame and heat-resistant spells, tunics, and badges they all wore. Death Mountain was called _Death_ Mountain for a reason. 

Sweaty and miserable, Young Link might as well have been Snappy Link with the number of comebacks he shot at soldiers demanding for help in their communication stones.

A memorable one was with one of the captains. 

"Sir Captain," the kid had said, with a tone so frosty he wishes it would have encompassed the whole mountain. "Just five minutes and eleven seconds ago, I went there to heal your stupid ass. Ten minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, Mr. Captain had to do it as well. Two minutes, three seconds, and nineteen milliseconds after this battle started, Princess Zelda had to do it." 

There was a pause after that, and not many were sure if it was for dramatic effect, or if it had something to do with the loud screams of terror and pain that followed after. Probably both.

"If your message is gonna be another call for help," the kid continued. "I'm gonna stay with you the whole day, hold your hand, buy you a pacifier, and treat you like the crybaby you are."

Said captain refrained from calling after that. He also didn't die, which is the defense the kid used when General Impa scolded him on the delicate matters of army morale.

The kid had to have learned that from somewhere. Contrary to what the rest of the soldiers think, they weren't born with the skills they used to plow through the battlefield. Time tracking was something all postmen had to do, and given how fierce the kid was to defending them-

"You've done this before?" He asks. His theory verified when the kid nods.

"... A postman taught me," the kid mumbles, fiddling with the tassels of his scarf. "Was more like a game than training though. He told me he'd give me a prize if I could clap at exactly ten seconds when he said start."

He hums. That could be a good idea to ease time tracking to newbies, he'll suggest that once he's back in the office.

"You don't mind?"

He blinks, then looks down at the kid. "Why would I?" He asks, confused at the thought.

The kid scowls—pouts, really, he doesn't have the face for scowling with his chubby rosy cheeks—and tugs on his scarf. 

"Everyone's got a weird problem with the postmen," he says, twisting his scarf in a way that he’s thankful the damn thing was so long. "Everyone. I'd say it's another stupid grown-up thing but my Hyrule doesn't have an issue besides the uniform, and Te-... another town I went to didn't either. They treat the postmen like postmen, not like whatever your Hyrule does. What’s so wrong about delivering letters? It’s _letters_ , not poop or anything."

He laughs. "Well, you don't have to worry about me doing the same thing, since I'm-"

"YOUNG LINK!"

Both look up to see Proxi fluttering above them, sporting a large black eye and glaring at the kid. 

"I've been looking all over for you!" She says, almost snarling. "I'm supposed to be your guardian! I can't do that when you keep running away!"

The kid rolls his eyes and blows a raspberry at her.

"What happened to your eye?" He asks, cutting Proxi's angry tirade.

Proxi huffs and looks away, crossing her arms. "Just a disagreement with another fairy," she says.

"That ended with fists?" He asks, baffled. Fairies weren't known for physical violence, not even the ones in his war-torn Hyrule.

"Tatl's been roaming the camp while Skull Kid's healing," the kid pipes up, glee heavy in his voice. "She overheard Proxi and the other fairies laughing at the postman delivering a letter to Impa and gave a piece of her mind."

“If her mind was her fists,” Proxi scoffs.

“You probably deserved it,” the kid declares.

For the love of Nayru, was he going to have to worry about fairies' broken shins too?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [Mental Training quest](https://zelda.fandom.com/wiki/Mental_Training) in Majora's Mask.


End file.
